


Harry Potter and Love

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, Fluff, Hogwarts Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-25
Updated: 2009-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-27 08:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: YES.  I have written a seventh year, Harry Potter and the Blank fic!!  It will be chock-full of action, magical and literary innovations, new foul and dark creatures, as well as a thorough account of the horcruxes, how to destroy them AND a completely unique take on “the power he knows not”!!!!!Oh, wait...  Huh.  It’s actually just some fluff.   Seventh year, Harry and Hermione are just friends,  a first-year develops a crush on Hermione, fun ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

(originally posted 1/15/2007) 

I saw this rather adorable [ "crush"challenge ](http://talk.portkey.org/index.php?showtopic=22084) over at Portkey, and even though someone else had already started writing it, I really wanted to try my hand at it. It won’t meet _all_ the requirements, but the main idea was too cute to pass up.   
  
Just keep in mind, it’s seventh year, and I guess Voldermort was defeated. And everyone is just a-okay about it. Apparently, you can destroy the greatest evil of your time with no real physical or emotional repercussions.  


* * *

  
Harry gave Hermione and Ron a wide grin as the three of them settled along the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Ron grinned back and Harry could see Hermione’s eyes sparkle with happiness. The three of them were in excellent spirits, and no one could possibly blame them. After all, here they were, back at Hogwarts after having defeated Voldemort only weeks earlier. After getting some much needed rest, the three of them had owled McGonagall and (rather cheekily, Hermione had remarked) let her know to expect them on the Hogwarts Express.   
  
Everyone had been thrilled with their decision to return. Mrs. Weasley couldn’t stop crying with joy that her youngest son would not be following in Fred and George’s footsteps. So much so, that she even bought him a new set of robes to finish his last year of school with. And with the news that Lupin would be once again teaching DADA and acting as the Head of House, Harry was certain that this last year at school would be the best ever.   
  
Needless to say, not everyone was happy to see them return to school. While Blaise Zabini had given them a cold—almost imperious—nod in greeting, others in Slytherin audibly hissed at them as they took their seats in preparation of the Welcoming Feast.   
  
“What a bunch of idiots,” Ron muttered, rolling his eyes. “You’d think they’d want to lie low a bit, bloody gits. After all, I don’t know if their parents can send them their monthly allowances from jail.”   
  
But Harry couldn’t help but observe that Ron spoke with an _almost_ impersonal dismissal of his former enemies, rather than the petulant anger he might have used in previous years. Ron would always be… well, _Ron_ , but he had definitely matured. Hermione must have noticed as well, for she gave the redhead’s arm a quick squeeze as she smiled at Harry across the table.   
  
And Hermione had changed as well, Harry noticed. Since Voldemort’s defeat, she had become more relaxed, more likely to laugh out loud. Not that she was giddy and giggly—she hadn’t suddenly turned into Lavender or Parvati—but it seemed that she didn’t _have_ to be quite _so_ serious all the time. Clearly, a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She also touched him and Ron constantly. She had never been an overly touchy-feely person before, but it was as if she now wanted to constantly remind herself that yes, they were still there. Happy and whole.  
  
As the students in the Great Hall began to settle down, McGonagall stood up to welcome the returning students back and to introduce Susan Bones and Terry Boot as the new Head Boy and Girl. Harry watched Hermione closely during the announcement and leaned across the table a bit. “Are you okay with this?” he asked, concern in his voice. At Hermione’s perplexed look, he went on, “I mean about not being Head Girl. If we had told McGonagall earlier that we were coming back, that would be you.”   
  
Hermione just smiled and put her hand over his, grasping it slightly. “No, Harry, I’m fine, honestly,” she replied, no false modesty forcing her to argue that she might not have been chosen as Head Girl. “I think I’ve had enough stress and responsibility to last me a while. Perhaps it’s really a blessing in disguise. I’m planning on enjoying this last year of school as much as possible,” she said with a brilliant smile.   
  
Harry smiled back, and if he noticed that she didn’t remove her hand from his for the next few minutes or so, he certainly didn’t say anything about it.  
  
As McGonagall signaled the beginning of the Sorting Ceremony, Ron let out an audible groan. “Good lord, _look_ at all the little buggers! It’ll be _forever_ before we get to eat!”   
  
At that, Hermione gave Ron a slap on the shoulder and told him to act like a human being and not a slobbering animal. Harry just stifled his laughter, but he noticed that Ron was right: there were an unusually large number of first-years. The amount of time it took to go from “Abbot, Geoffrey” (to join his cousin in Hufflepuff) to “Yi, Janet” (to the claps of her new housemates in Gryffindor) seemed to last forever, and by the time McGonagall had finished introducing the new faculty and told them—borrowing Dumbledore’s phrase—to “tuck in,” Harry was sure people could hear his stomach growling.   
  
At last the heaping platters of food appeared, and all the older Gryffindors stuffed themselves as they laughed and traded stories and anecdotes. As he looked over the table and waved at Lupin and Hagrid, Harry was sure he hadn’t enjoyed a Welcoming Feast more since his first year. By the time dinner was over (and even Ron was contentedly patting his belly) McGonagall stood up for some final words. He only listened with half an ear, as most of it was pretty standard stuff (Forbidden Forest bad, Filch had posted a new list of which products from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes were considered contraband, do not harass the Giant Squid, etc.), until she mentioned the uncommonly large number of first-years.  
  
“Therefore,” she announced in her strangely crisp brogue, “your faculty has created a new program to help acclimate our newest students to these hallowed halls of learning. In each house, a first-year will be paired with a seventh-year student. The seventh-year student will act as a mentor to the first-year,” she continued loudly, silencing the groans that had broken out at various parts of the Great Hall with a stern look. “Each Head of House will decide how to match the students, and I am confident that this will be the start of a wonderful new Hogwarts tradition. And now! Please stand for the school song!”   
  
As Harry sang the song (in a sort of cross between “La Cucaracha” and “Pop Goes the Weasel”) he glanced over at the group of first-years, and couldn’t help but grin as he saw the nervous awe on their faces. It was good to be back, and he couldn’t wait to see where the new year would take them.   
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Harry sat in the chair by the fire, his jaw dropping lower and lower as he stared at the girl who was sitting on an ottoman inches away from him. How was it possible for a single human being to talk so much?   
  
“I just can’t believe it, you know? I mean, I never would have thought when I got my Hogwarts letter that I would be meeting _you_ , I mean, you’re Harry Potter, you know? But here I am, and you’re my mentor. Mentor sounds so stuffy, you know? I’m glad that Professor Lupin is calling it big and little brothers and sisters. Oh my god, Harry Potter’s my big brother! That’s so exciting, you know? I mean, I already _have_ a big brother, but he’s in Venice, working as a mediwizard. That’s in Italy. I can’t believe it! First I’m sorted into Gryffindor and now Harry Potter is my big brother! It’s just so amazing, you know?”   
  
Harry just stared at the blonde first-year for a full ten seconds before he realized that she had finally stopped talking. At what sounded suspiciously like laughter, he looked over to the sofa to see Hermione and Ron “coughing” as they tried to avoid looking at him. Harry narrowed his eyes. _Their_ “little brothers” were noticeably calm and normal. Ron’s first-year was a short, easy-going boy from a village nearby Ottery St. Catchpole, and it seemed like they were discussing Quidditch. Harry couldn’t tell what Hermione and her first-year were talking about, but the blond boy was hanging on her every word with rapt attention. _Why_ Lupin had paired him with this chatterbox was beyond him. She would have been perfect for Lavender. ‘Oh well,’ he thought to himself, ‘at least I only have one little sister to worry about.’ His eyes quickly darted to Seamus and Dean, who had both been assigned _two_ first-years each.   
  
“Uh… Fiona,” Harry began, realizing that his charge was looking at him expectantly, when she suddenly cut him off.  
  
“Fifi,” she announced. At his bewildered look, she explained, “I go by Fifi. It’s more fun than ‘Fiona,’ you know?”   
  
At that he could only wince. There was no way he was going to call anything human by the name of “Fifi.” He shook his head and tried again. “Uh, yeah. How about Fiona can be the special name that I call you?” Without waiting for an answer, he went on. “So, do you have any questions? You’ll get your schedule tomorrow from Professor Lupin at breakfast, so be sure to be there on time.” As Fiona took a deep breath, Harry soon realized his mistake. “ACTUALLY!” he almost shouted, causing more than a few heads to snap in his direction. “How about you save your questions till after you get your schedule? I’m sure you’re tired and want to settle in to your room and get to know your roommates.”   
  
“Okay,” Fiona replied, scrambling to her feet before she threw her arms around Harry’s neck and squeezed. She didn’t seem to notice Harry’s choking sounds as she pulled away. “Have a good night!” she said brightly, bounding across the room before turning back to him. “This is going to be the best year ever, you know?” she exclaimed before she scampered up the stairs to the girls’ dorms.   
  
Harry only had a moment to close his eyes, exhale and sink back into his chair before the laughter of his best friends reached his ears. He opened his eyes to see them making their way over to him, their own first-years also having gone up to their rooms. “Don’t rub it in,” he growled, but with a quirk to his lips.   
  
“Are you kidding?” Ron asked as he plopped down onto the ottoman that Fiona had vacated. “I’ve just realized how much fun this year is going to be. Remind me to thank Lupin for your assignment.”  
  
Harry laughed and threw a cushion at him as Hermione motioned for him to slide a little to the side of the chair so that she could wedge herself in beside him. Harry smiled at her and put his arm around her shoulders, glad that he was so comfortable with his best friend at his side. After the previous summer, they had been in some close quarters, to the point that they were very comfortable with each other’s personal space. “And what about you, Hermione?” he asked, looking down into her sparkling brown eyes. “How’s your little brother?”   
  
“His name’s Michael, and he’s a Muggle-born, too. I think that’s why Remus matched us up together. He’s a little shy, but seems nice so far. To be honest, I think this is a rather nice program. I wish I had had something like it when I was a first year.”   
  
Harry smiled at her and gave her shoulders a squeeze, remembering how rough her first month at Hogwarts had been for her.   
  
Ron’s cheeks pinked a little as he also remembered, and then added, “My midget—Quintus—is not so bad, actually. He’s a Cannons fan.”   
  
At that, Hermione snorted, and Harry fought a laugh. Leave it to Ron to boil it down to the really important information. Like their young charges, they also went to their respective beds soon afterwards, settling in for the night and for their last year at Hogwarts.   
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Harry sighed as he looked at the schedule Lupin had handed him. Double Potions first thing after breakfast. True, he actually kind of liked Professor Slughorn, but potions still left a bad taste in his mouth. He sighed and looked over at Hermione as she pored over her own schedule, her lips pursed and her brows knit together. He smiled as he continued to watch her. She might have relaxed a bit since Voldemort’s defeat, but she was still _Hermione_ , and woe to anyone who got between her and her schoolwork.   
  
He was about to contemplate the way the sun streaming through the windows sort of made her hair shinier, when he was interrupted by about eighty pounds of girl suddenly squeezing him around the neck, and a loud “Good morning, big brother Harry!” shouted into his ear.   
  
Harry tried to ignore the good-natured grins that broke out on his area of the long table, but knew that his face was a bit pink as he listened to Fiona (rather vocally) tell him about how _wonderful_ her first night in Gryffindor tower was, how _adorable_ all her new roommates were and how _fabulous_ her first day in classes was going to be. After demanding to know where the Charms classroom was, she gave him another choke-hold of a hug and flounced out of the Great Hall with three other girls in tow.   
  
Harry just stared after her a bit, bemused and with his mouth hanging slightly open, when he finally shook himself back to his surroundings. He looked across the table and saw that Ron was talking to Quintus, who was apparently asking some question about the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Though how the boy could understand a word Ron was saying around his mouthful of eggs and sausage, Harry had no idea.   
  
But he had no time to ponder such deep questions before he found himself shoved rather rudely to the side. As he began cursing the strange precedent of being physically assaulted at breakfast that seemed to have developed, he turned to his side and found that Michael had rather forcefully insinuated himself on the bench between Harry and Hermione.   
  
Harry fought the urge to scowl at an eleven-year-old boy, and had to content himself with chewing his toast rather vigorously. After all, Michael wouldn’t take his seat for that long; if judging by Fiona and Quintus, he would just touch base with his “big sister” and then be off.   
  
But as he began to munch on his _third_ piece of toast, Michael was still there, the boy’s focus completely on Hermione. Well, judging by the fact that Harry only saw the back of the blond boy’s head, and that the first-year practically ignored his roommates as they made their way to class. Ron only gave Harry a rather pointed glance at the boy followed by a comical eye-roll, and then he also left to walk with Ginny and Luna.   
  
Soon, it was practically only the three of them left at the enormous table. Three people sitting rather close together, but one of the three having had nothing to say for the previous fifteen minutes. Harry was getting more than a little irritable at the situation and finally interrupted. “Hermione, I really think we should be getting to Potions. I know you don’t want to be late.”   
  
At that, he finally got their attention. Hermione looked over at him with a bright smile, but Michael looked more than a bit annoyed. “Of course, Harry,” she replied with a wink as she got up from the table. “And you better get to Charms with the rest of your year,” she told Michael, throwing her heavy book bag’s strap over her shoulder.   
  
“I don’t know where it is,” Michael replied, eliciting a silent groan from Harry. Good lord, what had the kid been pestering Hermione about for so long? Fiona might be a bit mad, but at least she had been quick about getting the relevant information and then going along her way.   
  
“That’s okay,” Hermione told the boy with a smile as she ruffled his mop of blond hair. “We’ll take you on the way to our class.”   
  
“Yeah,” Harry muttered to himself. “Because it’s so completely on the way to Potions.”  
  
At that, Michael quickly grabbed her hand and they began to walk out of the Great Hall, with Harry bringing up the rear. A rather cranky Harry. A rather cranky Harry who only got for some reason crankier when he thought he saw Michael throw a satisfied smile at him over his shoulder.

 


	2. Chapter 2

  
Author's notes: (Originally Posted 3/26/2007)  


* * *

With a feeling of _déjà vu_ , Harry felt himself being unceremoniously shoved to the side on the bench as Michael sat between him and Hermione at lunch. He couldn't even laugh when Ron announced to no one in particular, "That's six."

Harry was a little surprised that Ron had actually been keeping count of how many times the first-year had glued himself to Hermione's side at meal times, but the red-head had found the whole thing so hilarious that he had been keeping a running tally of "Michael Moments" for the past two weeks. In addition to the six times he had wedged himself between Harry and Hermione in the Great Hall, Ron had also counted four instances of the boy waiting outside one of Hermione's classrooms (the kid must have been really motivated to master the layout of Hogwarts so quickly, Ron had chortled), two times when Michael had sent Hermione a note, and of course there were the daily "talks" he and Hermione would have by the fireplace each evening in the common room. Though, Harry had noticed that the talks had pretty much consisted of Michael staring at Hermione and the way the fire made her face and hair light up.

"Yep, six," Ron had continued in a jolly voice. "The only thing better than six is seven, don't you think, Harry? _Seven_ is especially funny, don't you think?"

At that, Hermione narrowed her eyes at her best friend. "I don't think there's anything particularly hilarious about numbers, Ronald. Though, since you got that bump on your head last summer, you have been especially easy to please." She paused and lifted one of her eyebrows and a twitch of a smile shone on her lips. "It's too bad there's nothing shiny here for you to play with."

Before Ron could respond, Michael let out a laugh. "Gosh, Hermione, you're so funny! I think you may be the funniest person I've ever met!"

At that, Harry and Ron could only stare, open-mouthed, at the boy. Sure, Hermione could let loose the occasional zinger, and she _did_ have a dry wit. But to say that she was the funniest person he had ever met? Either the boy was suffering from a massive developmental disorder, or his adoration had completely blinded him.

But then, as Hermione blushed in response and gave the boy a quick ruffle of his blond hair, Harry mused that perhaps Michael knew exactly what he was doing.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"I'm sure I have no idea what you two are going on about."

Harry just frowned and Ron once again rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh.

"Oh please, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, his long arms circling in the air in front of him as he tried to emphasize his point with gangly-limbed gesticulations. The three of them had been walking back to Gryffindor Tower after having spent the afternoon by the lake, enjoying some of the last bits of summer they were likely to see for a while. After Hermione had commented that it was nice to do something with just the three of them, Ron had gone off on a Michael tirade, triggered in part from what had happened earlier that day at lunch. "It's pretty obvious that kid is completely in love with you! You're not doing him any favors, you know, by ignoring it. It's only going to make it worse."

"He's right, you know," Harry interjected before Hermione could respond. "All that hair tousling. A girl shouldn't just tousle a boy's hair. Just _touch_ him like that. He'll like it. I bet that kid doesn't comb his hair _on purpose_ just so that you'll ruffle it. Pfft. He thinks he's so special with that soft, kind of curly blond hair," Harry continued as he walked down the dark hallway. "I mean, that's not fair! Some people have really difficult hair! Some people have hair that's always a mess and no one wants to get anywhere _near_ it! They'd be scared to stick their fingers in it! But noooo, not Michael and his pretty blond mop of curls! Really, Hermione, I think—"

But Harry didn't finish that thought because he had at that moment noticed that his two friends were staring at him. Really staring at him.

"Um, Harry?" Ron tentatively asked. "I think that maybe Hermione has some idea about what it's like to have difficult hair—OUCH Hermione, that hurt!" he cried out as he rubbed his side where she had elbowed him.

But Hermione didn't say anything, she just watched Harry with an inscrutable expression on her face.

An expression that for some reason caused Harry to flush and stammer a bit. "Well, maybe I got carried away," he mumbled and started walking a bit more briskly down the hallway.

After a moment of awkward silence, Hermione cleared her throat. "Okay," she muttered, a little unsure of herself. "So maybe Michael has a _little_ bit of a crush on me. I really don't think it's anything to worry about. After all, he's new and he barely knows me." Her voice began to pick up steam, and she was soon speaking with that confident voice that Harry was so familiar with. "I'm sure that as he gets used to Hogwarts and he knows me better, his crush will just flitter away."

Harry didn't say anything, but it didn't sound like a very good plan to him. After all, the more _he_ had gotten used to Hogwarts, and the more _he_ had gotten to know Hermione… well, that hadn't made _him_ like her any less.

He frowned. There was something about that last thought that seemed important, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Oh my gosh, Harry! This is going to be so much fun, you know? I can't wait until the contests start. We are totally going to win, you know? I mean, how can we not? You're Harry Potter, you know? Do you think we'll win trophies?"

Harry wasn't sure if he was actually supposed to answer the last question. It was hard to tell with Fiona. But he found that he generally didn't have to talk much, she pretty much filled in all silences. Which allowed him to focus all his attention on not being horribly embarrassed about the fact that his hand was locked in a death grip in her own, as she swung their hands back and forth as she sort of skipped and hopped her way alongside him as they made their way onto the Quidditch pitch.

Luckily, as they got closer, Harry could see that there was enough commotion so that his own situation would be less likely to attract the attention (and therefore the snickers and outright laughter) of his fellow seventh-years. It was an unusually sunny Saturday afternoon, and the Heads of Houses and the Prefects had outdone themselves in setting up booths and tents filled with activities for the seventh and first-years to take part in. Lupin had told them that later in the day the whole school could attend, but for the first hours it was all reserved for the big and little brothers and sisters. Harry had to admit, that with the carnival-like atmosphere, it actually did look like fun.

"Look!" Fiona yelled, pointing across the field. "There's Ron and Quintus and Hermione and Michael!" she shouted before dragging Harry behind her.

"Hey there, mate," Ron called over to his beleaguered best friend (with barely concealed laughter) as Harry and Fiona neared. "All ready for the contests?"

"You bet we are!" Fiona exclaimed, brandishing her wand. "Harry's been giving me pointers all morning! We're totally going to win the partners dueling competition!"

"Uh, Fiona," Harry began, concern growing on his face. "Let's not wave the wand around quite so much…"

"You don't need to worry, Harry," she laughed, making more and more gestures with her holly wand, not noticing that Ron was pulling Quintus and himself farther and farther away from her. "You're a great teacher! What could go wrong?" she asked as she made a dramatic cutting gesture.

And before Harry could even worry about the possibility of famous last words, a blast of orange light flew from her wand towards Michael.

With a quickness born from experience, Hermione instantly pointed her own wand at the boy and issued a _Protego_ shield for him.

But as fast as she was, Harry was even faster. He had already cast his _Protego_ , and Fiona's misfired spell shattered against the formidable shield. A shield that had surrounded Michael _and_ Hermione.

Both of the children looked at the spell fizzling out against the shield and shock filled their faces. Fiona immediately burst into tears, causing Harry to awkwardly pat her on the shoulder, telling her that it was all okay. He maybe shouldn't have added that bit about how she had learned a valuable lesson, for that just sent her off into another gale of tears and caused her to throw her arms around him and bury her face in his shirt until she started hiccoughing.

Harry looked to his friends in helpless bewilderment. He didn't know what to do with a blubbering, hiccoughing little girl. But Ron was busy trying to keep Quintus calm and Hermione's attention was solely on Michael. And, even with all the confusion, Harry could see that Michael was looking at Hermione with even more adoration than before.

By that time, Professors Lupin and McGonagall had reached their group. "Mr. Potter!" McGonagall's voice rang out against the din. "What exactly happened here?"

With a grimace, Harry closed his eyes against Fiona's renewed wave of weeping. That was a question he wished he could answer for himself.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

A contended sigh escaped Harry as he sat down at the table for dinner. After the insanity of the afternoon, he was just happy to sit down with his friends and enjoy a nice, leisurely and _uneventful_ meal.

Luckily, the Great Hall was rather empty and quiet, for most of the students were still enjoying the various booths and tents on the field.

"Ah, this is more like it," Ron drawled, gesturing to the table heaped with food. "Midget free!"

Even Hermione giggled a bit at that, and Harry laughed as he reached for some chicken off of one of the platters. And that's when something went wrong. One minute, he was about to spear a particularly tasty looking morsel of roast bird, and the next minute he found himself tumbling off his seat, until he was laying on the floor, his fork still extended in his right hand.

He heard Hermione shout "Harry!" and in confusion he looked to where she was sitting on the bench. Next to Michael.

Michael. _Michael._ Harry had never felt such an unreasonable dislike for a child before. He felt guilty but he couldn't help himself. Wasn't it enough that he _always_ had to shove his way in between them? Even when there was plenty of room on her other side? Now he had to actually shove Harry off the bench entirely?

Hermione, seeing that he was fine, gave him an apologetic smile. Then she started to tell Michael that he ought to be more careful and apologize to Harry.

Harry gracelessly pulled himself up from his sprawled position on the floor to hear a rather insincere "Sorry" from Michael.

Before he could issue an equally insincere "no problem" back, he heard Ron explode into laughter. And everyone else in the Great Hall had absolutely no idea what the red-head was on about when he shouted out, "SEVEN!"


	3. Chapter 3

  
Author's notes: (Originally Posted 4/30/07)  


* * *

"I'm telling you, Ron, there's just something about that kid that's not right," Harry heatedly asserted to his best friend while they walked across the Quidditch pitch (following a friendly scrimmage between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams). Ron let out a dramatic sigh which Harry promptly pretended to not notice. "Seriously not right," Harry continued, warming to his topic as he detailed all the times in the week since Fiona's unfortunate wand "incident" that Michael had interfered in their lives.   
  
" _Interfered?_ " Ron asked in an incredulous tone that Harry found more than slightly annoying. "Okay, Harry, I'm with you on the whole 'Michael's an annoying little bugger' train of thought. But when you start tossing around words like 'interfering,' and what was the other one? Oh yeah. Menacing!" Ron let out a snort before continuing. "I mean, come on, Harry. He's just a little kid. He might be completely mad about Hermione, but he's not, you know, _mad_ mad. He just has a harmless crush."   
  
"HARMLESS?" Harry exclaimed. "Harmless? I've had to seek _medical attention_ because of that kid. He's hardly harmless."   
  
At that, Ron rolled his eyes and groaned. "Medical help? Please. You just needed some headache potion from Pomfrey from when you fell."   
  
"You mean when I fell after he _pushed_ me off the bench! I could have had a concussion!" Harry shot back, but at least he had the good graces to flush a bit as he said it. He knew he was sounding a bit over-the-top in his complaints about Michael, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. For the past week, he felt like he never got to see Hermione without her "little brother" in tow, except for when they were in the occasional class together. And that very day, she had been unable to come out to see the Quidditch scrimmage because she'd been too busy helping Michael with his Transfiguration homework.   
  
So, Harry was angry. And being a bit foolish about his anger. Which was confusing him because he knew he was being foolish but couldn't seem to stop himself. And that seemed to only make him more irritable. For which Michael was a convenient target. Though, he had to admit that a seventeen-year-old targeting an eleven-year-old was not exactly good form. Harry flushed again.   
  
Oh well, he thought to himself. Poor, little, curly-headed Michael got enough coddling from everyone else, so in the end, it all balanced out.   
  
Harry nodded to himself, pleased with how comforting logic could be. "Anyways, Ron, you're missing the point!" he exclaimed as they crossed the courtyard and entered the castle.   
  
"Enlighten me."  
  
"He's obsessed with her! He's with her all the time, complimenting her and holding her hand and staring at her when he sits next to her! We've got to do something before it gets worse. I mean, what's it going to take, Ron? Finding Michael's secret love cupboard, filled with pictures of Hermione and lit candles?"   
  
"Whoa, back up a bit," Ron finally interjected. "Let's not get crazy. I mean, I know you've got cupboard issues and all and I don’t mean to be insensitive—"   
  
"Ron! This is _not_ about _me!_ " Harry interrupted.  
  
Ron just threw a carefully considered look at Harry. "Are you sure about that? I was talking to Luna the other day about an article in the _Quibbler._ It was all about how the Bulgarians have infiltrated the English Quidditch team by using Legilimency and how—"   
  
"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" Harry shouted, his frustration painfully obvious as he forced Ron to a halt in the middle of the corridor.   
  
"Oh, yeah. Anyways, the point is that Luna told me that there are always lots of ways to look at a particular situation, that the story's always bigger than it first looks. And, like the Bulgarian Legilimens—see? I _did_ have a point—there are more people involved than you might think."   
  
"More people involved? Ron, I think you're the one who needs to see Pomfrey, you're making no sense at all. This is about one person, and that person is MICHAEL. Michael and how he's keeping Hermione away from me. Are you even listening to me?"   
  
"Shh," Ron murmured as his head cocked to the side in concentration. "Is someone crying?"   
  
"What?" Harry snapped, but forced himself to listen. Sure enough, he heard crying coming from one of the classrooms up the hallway. With a couple of questioning nods followed by some resigned sighs, they made their way to the room and pushed the already ajar door completely open. Only to find a miserable and confused looking Quintus standing next to a weeping Fiona.   
  
Harry stopped dead in his tracks. As familiar as he was with Fiona's crying after the whole wand situation, he was unprepared to see his "little sister" so dejected. Fiona was normally so full of energy and everything about her seemed so… big. Even when she cried, it was dramatic and full of wailing.   
  
But this time, she looked like the tiny first-year that she was. She was quietly sobbing, her face buried in her hands and turned away from everyone else, her body visibly shrinking into the chair she sat in.   
  
"Oh, Ron and Harry, thank god you're here," Quintus sighed, relief showing all over his face. "I didn't know, I swear! The two of us were in here, cleaning the classroom for a detention we got today from Flitwick, and everything was fine," he hastened to reassure them as he hurried to Ron's side and Harry made his way to Fiona. "We were just teasing each other a little; she said that my parents were probably glad that their fifth child had finally left them to go to Hogwarts, and then I said…" Quintus paused and swallowed, and Harry could see Fiona tense. "And then I said that her parents probably couldn't wait to get rid of her, that they were probably counting down the days."   
  
Quintus had finished his sentence in a whispered rush before bravely looking Ron and Harry in the face. "I didn't know about her parents, I swear!" the short boy continued, the truth obvious in his earnest face. "I didn't know they had died," he finished, his voice filled with misery.   
  
"It's okay, Quintus," Harry calmly replied. "Ron, maybe you could take Quintus and find Flitwick and let him know what's going on? Maybe the professor will be willing to find something else they can do for their detention?"   
  
After Ron nodded and left with Quintus, Harry looked at Fiona and sighed. _He_ hadn't known her parents were dead, either. He actually didn't know all that much about her, he realized. He pushed aside the gnawing guilt and sat on the chair next to her and simply waited until she stopped crying.   
  
When it seemed that she had spent all her tears, she finally looked up at him. "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to be such a blubberer," she quietly said, her cheeks wet and her eyes red.   
  
After he had reassured her, she tried to smile, but Harry could see how wretched she was. "Why didn't you tell me about your parents? Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked.   
  
Fiona looked away for a moment before speaking.   
  
Harry could tell how difficult it was for her, and for the first time he saw a very different Fiona. She told him how her parents had died a year earlier in an accident and how she had been living with her aunt and uncle since.   
  
"They're not bad people," she hastened to add when Harry asked about them. "It's just, I don't know. I guess I miss them. My parents. They loved me, you know? I could _tell_ they loved me, I could feel it. My mum would tuck me in every night and my dad would sing silly songs to me. I know I can be a bit much, but my mum and dad, they always encouraged me and laughed at my jokes. I love them so much and I hate it that they left me, even though I know they didn't want to leave me."   
  
And at that, she began to cry again, quiet tears that rolled down her cheeks.   
  
Harry put his arm around her shoulder with less awkwardness than he would have expected and asked her for more stories about her parents. He asked her for more of her good memories until she was no longer crying. She still had tears on her face, but Harry was relieved that she was able to smile through them.   
  
"Look, Fiona," Harry began, "I can't say that I know exactly how you feel, but I do know what it's like to miss your parents. And I know that your real big brother is off in Italy, but I'm your big brother here at Hogwarts, okay? So just remember that you'll always have family here."   
  
At that, Fiona gave him a real smile and threw her arms about his neck. And for the first time, Harry hugged her back. "So, what do you say?" he asked, getting up from the chair and holding out his hand to help her up. "How 'bout you go to the girls' room and freshen up? And then I suppose we should go see Professor Flitwick about your detention." At Fiona's alarmed face, Harry scrambled for something to keep the tears at bay. "Then maybe you might want to have dinner?" he quickly asked.  
  
Fiona nodded and then gave him one last hug before rushing off to the washroom.   
  
Afterwards, as the two of them walked into the Great Hall for supper, he thought back to his conversation with Ron. Maybe Luna was right; maybe there always was more to a situation—or a person—than you might think. He smiled ruefully. And maybe Lupin had known was he was doing all along, matching him with Fiona. And maybe he _had_ been overly harsh about Michael.   
  
At that, he looked over to where the blond boy was sitting next to Hermione as she gave him a bite of her pumpkin pie off of her fork. Then again, Harry thought, maybe not.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

  
Author's notes: (originally posted 6/4/2007)  


* * *

When Harry had been battling Voldemort, he had received quite a bit of advice.  Advice from numerous sources.  Advice that was normally unsolicited, and often times contradictory.

There had, of course, been some good counsel along the way. Quite a bit of that had come from Hermione.  Well, Remus was always good for sensible advice as well.  In fact, one of Remus' aphorisms had been echoing in his mind lately.  "You know, Harry," the older man had told him, during one of their late-night discussions,  "contrary to popular belief, you don't fight fire with fire.  That makes no  sense whatsoever.  You fight fire with water.  The problem is... finding out what the bloody hell the water actually _is."_

Of course, Remus hadn't stopped there.  He had gone on to talk about how people rarely want to recognize themselves in their enemies, how studying our enemies can teach us about ourselves, and so forth and so on.  But Harry wasn't concerned about all that at the moment.

Because at the moment, all he cared about was finding the right water.  Because — as Remus had said — fighting Michael with fire was undoubtedly not going to work out.  After all, Harry certainly couldn't go around shoving Michael off of benches.  

And on top of that, he had the nagging feeling that his behavior regarding Michael wasn't exactly winning him any popularity points.  Hermione had sent her share of disapproving glances his way; the few times he had tried to talk some sense into her she had brushed him off saying that it was just a school-boy crush and would soon blow over, that there was no point in embarrassing the boy over a harmless phase.  Even Ron had been giving him slightly exasperated looks whenever he began one of his Michael tirades.

In fact, since the week before, when they had found Fiona crying in the classroom, Ron had been noticeably silent on the topic of Michael, much to Harry's frustration.  And when Harry had confronted him the previous day on the subject, Ron had just stared at him for a moment, frowning, before adding a cryptic, "I think this is something you've got to work out on your own."

"Work out on my own?" Harry muttered to himself as he poked at his crystal ball.  Why he was still taking Divination — and with Trelawney of all people — he wasn't quite sure.  If only he could take a nap, like a snoring (and slightly drooling) Ron to his side, it might have been bearable.  But alas, there he was: wide awake and poking-poking-poking at the cloudy sphere, as if it might finally give him some answers.

Luckily, the class ended before Harry could inflict any significant damage on the ball (though his index finger _was_ feeling slightly sore), and after waking Ron, he left to meet Hermione at her Arithmancy class so that they could walk to Potions together.

At the thought of seeing Hermione, Harry's face broke out into a grin and his step grew a bit brisker.  He had quickly learned to treasure the few times that he had alone with her, and for that reason alone, Potions had suddenly become his favorite class that term.

He turned a corner, hoping that Slughorn had picked a terribly complicated potion that would require him and Hermione to work closely together for the entire class period.  But what greeted his eyes as he approached the Arithmancy room caused him to lose his good humor immediately.

For there was Michael, talking to a smiling Hermione as he pulled at her book bag strap.

"It's too  heavy, Michael," Hermione laughingly protested, as the blond boy grabbed her bag and valiantly pulled the strap over his slight shoulder.

Harry rolled his eyes as the boy struggled under the enormous weight that was Hermione Granger's Book Bag – capital letters clearly intoned – even as Michael hastened to assure her that everything was fine.  Resisting the urge to trip the boy, Harry instead pulled Hermione's arm through his own and started to walk them toward the dungeons.  "So, Michael," Harry called with a forced cheerfulness to the straggling first-year behind him, "how're your classes going?"

Ignoring Hermione's eyes that were immediately (and slightly suspiciously) trained on his face, Harry fought the urge to laugh as Michael attempted to speak, walk, and carry Hermione's bag all at the same time.  

But soon, even Harry started to feel a little sorry for Michael's predicament (albeit, it was a very little, indeed).  And he could tell that Hermione was uncomfortable as to what to do, since taking the bag back from him would have embarrassed the boy considerably.  

As they passed a set of double doors, Harry called out to Michael.  "Hey, you know, that's actually a shortcut to your Charm's classroom," he said as he pointed at the doors.  Regretfully, Harry dropped Hermione's arm and quickly grabbed the bulging sack from the boy's shoulder, swinging it over his own.  "Just cut across the courtyard and make a left and you're there!" Harry announced with a bright smile.  And if the smile was a little too toothy to be sincere, only Michael saw.

"Oh that's right!" Hermione exclaimed.  "You're going to be late otherwise," she added with a slight glance and a grateful smile for Harry.

Not willing or able to argue with Hermione, Michael grudgingly left the two to continue their way down the stairs to Slughorn's class.  

"Thank you," Hermione said to Harry as she playfully bumped his upper arm with her shoulder.  "He never would have admitted that it was too heavy for him."

Harry couldn't help but preen a little under her approval.  "Well, it's a good thing that your best friend is so strong and manly."

"True," Hermione responded with a decisive nod.  "And when Ron's not around, you'll do."

At that, Hermione was forced to give a quick shriek and run down the hallway, for Harry had responded with an affronted "Hey!"  quickly followed with a fierce mock-growl as he tried to chase her into the classroom.

"Took you long enough," Hermione impishly teased him when he entered to room to find her already seated at their table.

"Well," he replied with a gusty sigh, "I was slightly hampered by carrying Gilderoy Lockhart's entire _Magical Me_ series over my shoulder."

Hermione let out a ladylike snort before she reached to take her bag from him.  "Thanks again, Harry," she replied, with a soft smile on her lips and what Harry could only describe as a sort of glow about her face.

"Anytime," Harry said, with a returning grin of his own.  And as he said it, he realized that he really meant it.  He had _liked_ taking Hermione's bag for her.  He only wished that it hadn't taken a meddling first-year to get him to have done it in the first place.  

The class soon quieted down when Professor Slughorn entered from his office, and Harry gave another quick grin to Hermione as he pulled out his parchment, ink and quill.  Hermione rolled her eyes at him and her lips quirked into a playful smirk as she nudged at his foot  from  under the table.

Harry's heart beat a little faster, and he was sure that his face was more than a little flushed.  

But before he could think about how to respond, Professor Slughorn's voice interrupted this wonderful new game. "Well, if my top students could stop playing footsie long enough for me to get started," the portly old man jokingly declared to the class, earning some laughter from the other students  (as well as embarrassed blushes from the culprits in question), "then the rest of you can collect the ingredients that I've listed on the board."

Feeling both relieved and irritated, Harry carefully watched Hermione during the rest of the class.  It was easy to see why Michael had such a crush on her; Hermione was pretty much the perfect girl.  She was beyond smart, kind, attractive, and loyal almost to the point of insanity.  She knew him better than anyone else in the world, and he trusted her like he trusted no other person — even  more so than Ron.  And thinking back to the final battle against Voldemort... Well, Harry knew in his heart that she was willing to risk everything to save him.  And she knew that he would do no less for her.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice quietly interrupted his reverie.  "Is everything okay?" she asked, concern evident in her soft brown eyes as she reached to grasp his hand in her own.

"What?" was his own elegant response.  He tried to cover for his abstraction as best he could.  Unfortunately, Harry's idea of "covering" consisted of babbling like an imbecile. "No, everything's perfectly all right now. I'm fine. Completely fine here now, thank you. How are you?"

He fought the urge to wince as he heard his own mouth issue forth inanities.  But luckily, Hermione just quietly looked his face over and gave his hand another quick squeeze before turning back to their potion.

He wanted to sigh in relief.  He didn't know what had come over him.  Since when was he nervous around Hermione?  Of course, she was pretty enough to make a boy turn stupid.  As she leaned over their cauldron, and the silvery cloud from the brew within it began to float and swirl about her face, Harry found himself slightly mesmerized.  The way her small hands meticulously prepared the ingredients... the way she would occasionally blow her wild hair out of her eyes... the way her full lips pursed when she was concentrating...

If Harry could have see himself, he would have recognized the rather familiar look of a boy mooning over Hermione.  But this time, it wasn't an eleven-year-old doing the mooning.  It was him.

Harry's body literally snapped to attention as all the pieces fell into place.

Hermione Granger was _not_ the perfect girl.

Hermione Granger was the perfect girl for _him._


	5. Chapter 5

  
Author's notes: (originally posted 7/9/2007)  


* * *

  
Harry was whistling.  Badly.  Perhaps if his childhood had consisted of less time battling evil henchmen and nefarious rodents, and more time playing outdoors during the sunlit days of summer, he might have been able to carry a recognizable tune.  Or, at the very least, sustain a note for longer than one second before it wheezed and wandered into a musical void.

But Harry was oblivious to the aural damage he was inflicting on others.  He was happy, and as he walked through the hallways of Hogwarts, he found himself content to whistle with a smile on his face.

"Well, _someone's_ in an awfully chipper mood," Hermione announced to her walking companion.

Harry stopped whistling to glance down at her upturned face, catching himself before he started staring at her full lips quirked into an impish grin.  Instead, he readjusted the strap of her book bag across his chest and threw an arm about her shoulders as they walked to the Great Hall.  "How could I not be?" he asked in response to her statement, getting in a quick squeeze that caused her to laugh as she stumbled a bit into him.  "It's Halloween!  One of the few days in the year when we'll actually see that rarest of sights, a Ron stuffed to the gills with food!"

At that, Hermione snorted.  "Can you believe he was actually planning out his dinner during breakfast?  Sometimes I think he loves food more than anything.  I wonder what Ron's perfect girl would be like?  Made entirely of meat pasties, perhaps?" she asked with an entirely unladylike guffaw.

"With an alabaster, mashed-potato skin?" Harry  added with a snicker.

"And, of course, chocolate biscuits for eyes!" Hermione finished with that deep, pure laugh of hers that Harry had come to adore.  "But then again," she added, "it's not fair to pick on Ron alone.  I think the saying 'the way to a man's heart is through his stomach' probably goes for all the boys I know," she finished with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Oh, I don't know," Harry responded with as much nonchalance as he could muster.  "Not all guys would be seduced by a mashed-potato girl, you know."

"Oh really?" she asked with a teasing grin as they reached the large doors of the Great Hall — a door that Harry was quick to open for her.

"Really," Harry responded, pleased with how not-awkward he sounded.  "Some guys are lucky enough to know who their perfect girl is in real life.  Maybe even be friends with her.  After all, we don't all stay hopeless eleven-year olds forever."  

At Hermione's curious glance, Harry fought to not do a victory lap around the hall.  That last bit had actually been better than simply not-awkward.  It _may_ have been slightly cool.  He wasn't entirely sure what it meant to be suave, but he thought he might have even treaded on suave-like ground.

As they took their seats at the table, a quick glance ensured Harry that Michael was already safely ensconced by a chattering Fiona.  Harry couldn't help the small grin that escaped him.  When he had first met Fiona he never imagined that they would become close, but since that day he had talked to her about her parents she had actually become the little sister Remus had intended for her to be.  And she had since attached herself to Michael (in "solidarity" with her big brother, as she had put it), allowing Harry with more private time with Hermione than he had had since returning to school.

Fiona saw Harry grinning at her and gave him a quick wink before grabbing Michael's arm and asking some question about their Potions assignment.

Harry tried to smother his laughter at Michael's confused expression.  How did girls _do_ that, he asked himself.  He had never told Fiona about his feelings for Hermione—he hadn't even told _Ron_ about it, for goodness sakes.  But somehow the girl had figured it out, and decided to help her big brother in his "quest for love."

Shaking his head at her romantic declarations, he glanced over at Hermione, who was wearing that thoughtful, quiet expression he knew so well.  Were there any real good-luck charms for love, he wondered, because he certainly needed all the help he could get.  Hermione was normally so smart!  As he watched her chew at the inside of her cheek, Harry sighed.  Even _Fiona_ had figured it out.  

"I know," Ron interjected from across the table, misinterpreting Harry's sigh of longing.  "I'm starving, too!  When's the feast going to start, I'm about ready to pass out!"

Of course, Ron was immediately satisfied when the table was suddenly covered with platter upon heaping platter of food.  Harry only wished that his own issues could have been solved so easily.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Harry soon enough felt foolish for his near-gloating earlier that night.  He and Hermione were making their way back to the Gryffindor common room in near-silence, having been abandoned by Ron who had left the feast earlier to "recuperate" on his favorite sofa.  Gone was their earlier joking, as Harry could see that Hermione was almost entirely preoccupied with her own thoughts.  And to hear the occasional shrieks of laughter echoing through the corridors from other students still enjoying their Halloween, only seemed to highlight everything that was all-so-wrong about their current situation.

If he could have kicked himself with no one the wiser, he would have.  Here he was, alone with her, and aside from carrying her book bag yet again, he was doing nothing to help his cause.  If Hermione were to look any more gloomy, she'd be right at home at a funeral.  Not exactly the setting for romance, he acknowledged, as the only funeral he'd ever attended had ended with him breaking up with Ginny.

_Good lord, just say SOMETHING, you git!_ And in desperation, he said the first thing to pop into his head.  "Oh!  Hey look, Hermione, we're near the toilet!"

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks to stare at him.  Harry realized what he had just said and suddenly wished he were dead.

"The toilet?" she asked, the confusion evident on her face.

"Er, yeah, the toilet," Harry stammered.  "You know?  From Halloween, first-year?  There was a troll?  And Quirrell?  And the stone?  And that troll?  It was really big?"

Hermione's eyes softened and she grabbed his hand in her own.  Harry might have wished that his own hand was slightly less clammy (and more suave), but he didn't question his sudden good luck.  

"I remember," she replied, as her whole face softened and Harry had to remind himself that breathing was a really important process.  "How could I forget?  That's the day I went from being alone to being the luckiest girl in the world."

"No, Hermione," Harry interrupted.  "That day, _I_ became the luckiest gir—I mean guy in the world."  

This wasn't how he imagined it.  It certainly wasn't very cool or suave, potentially laying your heart on the line outside of a girls' loo.  In fact, it made the whole funeral scenario seem that much more appealing in contrast.  But this was where it was going to happen.  

"That day," Harry continued as he took Hermione's other hand, "that day changed my life.  For the better. _So_ much better. This is our seventh Halloween together, and I don't even want to imagine that we won't always be together on this day."

Harry knew that last sentence was confusing, but Hermione was a smart girl; she would understand him, right?  He could see that Hermione's eyes were filling with tears, but they didn't really seem like _bad_ tears.  

"Oh, Harry," she whispered, "I don't want that to ever happen, either.  You and me, we should always be together, don't you think?"

"Definitely," he whispered back.  And when she smiled at him, he _knew_ that that was the moment he had been waiting for.  And so, still holding her hands in his own, he dipped his head forward and she did the same.  Without even being aware of it, his eyelids fluttered shut, just as his lips touched hers.

It was probably a good thing that his eyes were closed, or else he might have died from sensory overload.  Her lips were so soft and he could feel her warm, sweet breath as they stood there, holding hands and their mouths gently exploring as they stopped being just friends, and instead became Harry and Hermione.

His heart beating in ears, he was slightly bewildered when Hermione pulled away, but a huge smile broke out over his beaming face when she lifted her hands to wrap her arms about his neck, bringing her body that much closer to his own.  "That wasn't bad," she whispered, a naughty grin appearing on her own face.

"Maybe a little more practice?" Harry asked.  This time he was _positive_ that he was being extraordinarily suave.

"Definitely," she replied with a wink.

And then, just as Harry brought his head closer to plant _the_ romantic snog to end all snogs onto the girl of his dreams, the strap on Hermione's book bag broke, causing Harry's head to jerk back and forth.  This culminated in him giving Hermione the most romantic head-butt to ever grace the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

"AAARGH!" "OW!" both teenager yowled as they clamped their hands over the nicely-developing red spots on their foreheads.  But before Harry could be horribly embarrassed, Hermione burst into peals of laughter.

Harry couldn't help but laugh as well as he gingerly probed his bump with his fingertips.  "Well," he finally quipped when Hermione's laughter had died down, and he gestured to all of her scattered books and her broken bag that he still held in his hand, "don't let it be said that I don't know how to show a girl a good time."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione murmured with a special fondness in her voice that made shivers run down his spine.  And then she quickly pulled out her wand, murmured a charm, and her bag reassembled itself as all her books quickly flew into it.  She then reduced the entire bag, and with a mischievous grin, tucked the whole thing into Harry's pocket.

It took a stunned Harry a moment to get over the fact that Hermione Granger had just put her hand in his trousers, when something finally registered. "Hey, wait a minute!" he  cried out.  "Why did you let me carry that monster of a bag all over this castle when you could have done that at any time?"

Hermione just tutted at him and drew her arm through his as she started herding them back to the common room.  "And did it never cross your mind that _you_ could have done the very same thing?"  At his puzzled expression she couldn't help but giggle.  "Though, I have to admit that I don't like using charms on books.  It just _feels_ wrong, somehow.  And besides," she added with what Harry decided was an adorably coy glance at him, "maybe I enjoyed having you carry my books for me."

Harry smiled as he twined his fingers with hers.  "Maybe I enjoyed it as well.  I guess I should thank Michael for giving me the idea."

Hermione laughed.  "See?  He's not so bad, is he?"

Harry rolled his eyes.  "Whatever.  He just better learn to keep away from my woman."  

"Your woman?" Hermione repeated in mock-outrage, playfully shoving at his arm with a grin.  "You better watch out, Mr. Neanderthal, I happen to be of the independent sort."

"I know," Harry replied before pulling her into a bit of an alcove just before the Fat Lady's portrait.  "I like it."

Hermione would have giggled in response, but found herself to be too busy kissing her new boyfriend to do much else other than sigh and wrap her arms around him.

Finally, breathless and flushed and too disoriented to realize how long they had been snogging in the hallways, they pulled apart.  With a gentle smile, Hermione took his hand and pulled him through the portrait hole.  Harry held onto her hand and looked forward to a night on one of the squashy chairs in front of the fire with Hermione finally in his arms.

"Harry!  Hermione!" a shrill voice immediately cut through his daydreams, and Harry was startled to see Fiona running towards him, worry plainly written all over her face.  "It's Michael," she explained.  "He came in here a little while ago and he seemed really upset.  He went up to his dorm for a bit, but then ran out of here.  Did you see him in the hallway?"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other as the likely reason of what had upset Michael began to dawn on them. "Uh, no," Harry answered, a flush rising on his cheeks.  "We didn't see anyone else," he finished with a guilty expression.

"What's all the noise?" Ron groggily asked, roused from what appeared to be a deep nap on the sofa.

"It's Michael, he's upset and has run off," Hermione answered, the worry obvious in her voice.

"Michael?  I think I saw him," another voice interrupted and they all turned to see Quintus entering the room.  "I was walking back from the greenhouses and I thought I saw him over by the edge of the Forbidden Forest."

Harry heard Hermione gasp as her hand tightened around his own.  

"We have to find him, Harry!"

Harry nodded as Ron ran off to find Lupin and tell him what had happened.  "You two stay here," he ordered Fiona and Quintus before running out of the room with Hermione quick on his heels.

Fiona and Quintus just looked at each other and Fiona let out a loud sigh before asking the boy,  "Do you think Halloween is always like this at Hogwarts?"

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

"Michael!  Michael!"

The cry echoed in the gloomy wood as Harry and Hermione searched the nearest edges of the Forbidden Forest.

"He's not here," Harry announced, a grim expression on his face.  "We're going to have to go deeper in, so let's stay close together."

Hermione simply nodded and increased the light streaming from her wand.  "We have to find him, Harry.  He can't handle himself out here."

"Don't worry, Hermione," he said, trying to reassure her as he gave her hand a quick squeeze.  "Ron and Lupin will be here soon and we'll find him any minute."

They entered deeper into the forest, calling out the boy's name, when they suddenly heard a scream.  "That didn't sound like Michael," Hermione shouted to Harry as they sprinted off in the direction of the continued shrieking.  "It sounded like a girl."

The two of them tore through the brush, to suddenly skid to a halt.  Before them was a precipitous and rocky gully that cut through the forest.  And on the other side of the steep ditch, Harry could see Michael.  But not just Michael, but Fiona and Quintus as well.  "How did they get there!" he snapped, the frightened anger evident in his voice as he stared at the three children who had their backs to the gully and were pointing their wands at something in the shadows.

"Oh, my god!  Harry, look!" Hermione cried, directing light from her wand to illuminate whatever had the children so frightened. Harry's face went white as he saw hundreds of acromantulas crawling towards the three stranded first-years.  Harry could see that they were only baby spiders, but the sheer numbers of them were dangerous enough as it was.  

Alerted by Hermione's light, Fiona turned towards them, the terror clear in her eyes.  "HARRY!" she screamed, before turning back to the spiders, trying to blast them as best as she could.

_"Incendio!"_ Harry shouted, and a streak of fire shot out of his wand, creating a barrier of flames between the children and the spiders.  "Quickly, Hermione, move them!"

Hermione nodded and  pointed her wand first at Fiona.  " _Wingardium Leviosa!"_ she shouted, and with a frightened shriek, Fiona was quickly  levitated and Hermione motioned with her wand to bring the terrified girl to the safe side of the gully.  

The girl thumped to the ground, for Hermione didn't have time to be gentle, as she knew that Harry was expending a lot of effort to create and contain his wall of fire.  She quickly brought over Michael and then Quintus, allowing Harry to release his spell.  "Quickly!" Harry ordered.  "We have to get out of here fast.  I don't want to think about what else in this forest that fire attracted."

With that, Harry grabbed Fiona and Quintus' hands, and they all ran as fast as they could.  He could see Hermione and Michael at his side, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the edge of the forest ahead of him.

The group ran out of the woods and collapsed onto the grounds of the school, all five breathing heavily, and the younger ones fighting to hold back sobs of fright.  Harry looked over to Hermione and smiled in relief, grabbing her hand to reassure himself that she wasn't hurt.

"Harry!  Hermione!" Ron's voice broke through the night, and Harry could see his best friend running towards them, with Lupin and McGonagall following closely behind.  "Thank god you're all right!" he shouted, relieved to see his best friends.  And if he was confused to see Harry holding onto Hermione, he didn't let on other than with a raised brow.  "And Quintus?  And Fiona?  What are you two doing here?"

"A very good question, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall interjected.  Both Fiona and Quintus winced at her tone.  "One that we will have answered soon enough.  For now, I want all of you in the hospital wing immediately.  Madame Pomfrey needs to examine you straight away."

With a resigned sigh, Harry helped Hermione up.  All he wanted to do was hold her to him, but that would have to wait.  As he watched Lupin assist Michael with what appeared to be a broken arm, he sighed again.  It would have to wait, all right.  There were some things Harry had to straighten out, first.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Harry peeked around the room divider to see Michael laying still in the hospital bed.  The rest of the group had been allowed to go back to their own rooms for the night, after Madame Pomfrey had given them a salve for some minor cuts and bruises.  But Michael had in fact broken his arm, along with some other injuries, and would have to stay in the hospital wing for a couple of days.

Harry sighed.  He wasn't looking forward to this, but it had to be done.  "Knock, knock," he announced as he walked around the divider to sit at the chair by Michael's bed.  "Pomfrey said you could have some visitors, so I thought I'd come by to check on you."

Michael glanced at Harry, and it was the first time that Harry could remember the boy looking at him without any hostility.  

"I suppose I should thank you for saving my life," Michael whispered, the embarrassed flush on his cheeks causing Harry to forgive his slightly less than gracious admission.

"No problem," Harry responded.  "If you knew all the crazy stunts I had pulled when I was your age… Well.  Hermione would kill me for telling you those stories.  But let's just say that I've had a lot of help from different people over the years, so me helping you and the others is kind of like me paying them back.  When you're a seventh-year, maybe you can do the same for some other first-year."

"Thanks," Michael whispered, looking down at his fingers plucking at the bed sheet.  "I guess you think I'm pretty stupid to have run off like that."

Harry sighed and leaned back into his chair.  "Oh, I don't know.  We all do stupid things.  Especially when there's a girl involved."

At that, Michael's head snapped up and he looked Harry in the face.  "What do you mean?" he asked, nervousness shining in his eyes.

Harry gave him a rueful smile.  He couldn't be angry with him.  He was just a kid.  "Oh, I don't know," he began in a calm, neutral voice.  "I was thinking that maybe you saw something that upset you.  Something about Hermione and me?  And I can understand that.  I mean, she's a pretty amazing girl.  I can't believe that I'm lucky enough to be the guy that she's with."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Michael answered with a blush, as he went back to staring at his fingers.  "I mean, yeah, Hermione's great and all, but she's really old.  I'd have to be crazy to have a crush on her.  That would be really stupid of me, wouldn't it?"

Harry's heart softened as he heard the pitiful tone of Michael's last statement.  A first crush was a milestone.  He thought back to his own first crush on Cho.  Milestones shouldn't always have to marked with embarrassment.  "Oh, I don't know," Harry answered.  "I don't think it's all that stupid.  I think it shows pretty good taste, if I say so myself.  I mean, it's not like we're talking about Millicent Bulstrode, here."

At that, Michael did give a snort of laughter.  "You won't tell Hermione, will you?" the boy asked, still refusing to meet Harry's eyes.

Harry shook his head.  "Nah.  She's just glad you're in one piece, you know?  That's all she cares about."  Harry stood up from his chair.  "So, is everything good?  Because there are some more people out in the hallway that want to see you."

Michael was silent for a moment longer before looking up.  "You really care about her, right?  I mean, you're going to treat her well?"

Harry worked to keep the smile off of his face and to respond with the seriousness that he knew Michael needed to hear.  "Yes, Michael, I'll treat her well.  She's the one."

Harry was a little surprised to hear himself say that last part, but knew it was true the moment in came out of his mouth.  She was the one.

At that, Michael nodded.  "You're a really lucky guy.  I hope you know that."

"Believe me, I know," Harry answered and went to the door to let the other visitors in.  As soon as the door was opened, Fiona went rushing to Michael's bed, soon followed by Quintus.  The girl soon had Michael smiling, and Quintus was availing himself of the copious amounts of candy that was sitting at Michael's bed-side table.

Harry smiled as he watched the three first-years laugh off their first adventure.  Hermione made her way to his side and wormed her way under his arm as Ron approached his other side.

"Huh.  It looks like they're best friends in the making," the red-head announced as he threw some pilfered Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans into his mouth.

Hermione grinned.  "Well, there are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other.  And I guess escaping a horde of acromantulas is one of them."

Harry pulled his arm tighter around her shoulder.  "In that case," he added,  "I guess they're off to a great start."

"A _wonderful_ start," Hermione agreed, her sparkling eyes trained on his own.

"Good lord," Ron announced with a theatrical groan as he steered them out of the hospital room and towards the Great Hall. "Save your lovey-dovey cow eyes for later.  I'm starving.  I hope they've got mashed potatoes for dinner.  Oh!  And maybe some meat pasties!"

At that, Hermione couldn't help but laugh, much to Ron's annoyance.  And as Harry followed his best friend and girl friend to dinner, he couldn't help but whistle.

 

 

The End.


End file.
